Standby
by Angel of Insanity
Summary: It's senior year and everyone has their roles to play, so why does it feel like everything's slipping out of control?  Starts out with a sock in the toaster and ends somewhere between Beaumont and Houston. M rating for eventual content.
1. Build Up, Break Down

**Standby**

_**Chapter 1: Build Up, Break Down**_

---

_Has nobody asked you how you are  
You look like you might not last the day  
I wouldn't have made it very far  
So we'd make a good team right away_

_Ask Me How I Am, Snow Patrol_

---

"_MOM_, there's a sock in the toaster!"

Dorothy Ann gave the appliance a look of disgust before taking a bite of her cold bagel. Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she unplugged the toaster before moving out of the way of her mother advancing on the fire hazard with a butter knife. Ever since her younger brother's birth, her mother's odd behavior had become increasingly worse. Probably something to do with sleep deprivation.

"And tell Evan that if she doesn't get her pretty little butt down here, we're leaving without her. I've got a French club meeting this morning that I can't miss."

She'd wrecked her '97 Corolla in a ditch two weeks ago driving back from movie night at Ralphie's. Even though she had been driving too fast, she'd yet to admit it to anyone but Phoebe, and she had swerved to avoid a deer, which was the only reason she'd admitted it to Phoebe, the damage had been pretty minimal. At least until _the boys_ had shown up in Ralphie's '03 Silverado and tried to pull her out of the ditch. Not only did they manage to back up into her car, _twice_, but according to the mechanic they'd hooked up to the wrong part in the undercarriage while they were trying to pull her out.

Long story short, Carlos would be driving her to school until her car got out of the shop. Read: sometime between next month and when hell froze over.

"I am not riding around in that…that…monstrosity!"

Evan stomped down the stairs in a huff. Last summer, when she'd turned thirteen, she'd grown boobs and an attitude. At fourteen, she was barely sufferable. She'd turned tanning into an extreme sport, no doubt she'd look like beef jerky in about ten years. She dyed her already blonde hair until it was almost white and generally wore it up into a long, perfect ponytail that usually took about thirty minutes to engineer. Evan had an issue with wearing clothes that weren't from Abercrombie and Fitch or Charlotte Russe; she also wore more makeup than D.A. thought humanly possible and never left the house without hoisting her 5'1" self up on dangerous high heels.

Oh how nice of the junior varsity cheer squad to replace her sweet little sister with a Barbie doll. She'd been meaning to send them a thank you note.

"What will the girls think, worse, what will they say? _Gawd_, they already think I'm dating _Mikey_, how stupid…"

By now they were in 'last nerve' territory. This usually came after Evan spent an hour in the bathroom and before they got out the door. "And what, in God's name, is wrong with Mikey?" DA was pretty sure that if her mom hadn't been standing there, she would have been tempted to shove the last of her bagel up her sister's nose. "You don't have _any _problem asking him for _help _with your homework."

Temporarily mollified with Evan's 'fish gasping for air' impression, she grabbed her backpack and ducked into the den to say goodbye to their dad. Fortunately he was too engrossed in reading _Popular Mechanics_ to three year old William Michael to do little more than grunt. Lately she'd been getting a safety lecture every time she stepped out the door. Waving to her mother as she passed the kitchen, there was no way DA was getting near her mother when knives and toasters were involved, she'd grabbed Evan by the arm and was pulling her out the front door when Carlos laid on the horn.

The _monstrosity_ that pulled up in the driveway wasn't all that bad. It was a '01 Dodge Caravan in gunmetal grey. The Ramones had dropped an extra $17,000 dollars to have the minivan outfitted with a VMI Northstar conversion, so Mikey and his wheelchair could fit in the passenger side. Because they'd gotten the conversion, they hadn't been able to get Carlos a car when he'd gotten his license. Instead of inheriting his mom's '92 Ford Focus, he'd opted to take the minivan, despite the fact that the guys on the soccer team called it the 'mom wagon.'

_Anything_ was better than the Focus, he'd said, and Dorothy Ann was apt to agree.

"Looking good, Annie,"

One thing was for sure, she didn't look bad. Although she'd taken a while to mature, by seventeen she'd managed some respectable curves on a 5'4" frame. It also helped that she'd learned to dress herself.

She'd let her honey blonde hair grow out until she could sweep her bangs to the side and her hair fell just beyond her shoulders. Long layers and a sound investment in a straightening iron had gone a long way. Lightly tanned from summers spent reading along the Gulf of Mexico, a little powder and some black eyeliner and mascara, to bring out her blue eyes, was the only make up she used.

Still, her overall look didn't change much from elementary to junior high school. She'd still worn thin pullovers with pleated skirts, trading white tights and Mary Janes for knee high socks and Keds. It really hadn't been until freshman year, after _Phoebe_ commented on her clothes, that DA realized she needed a style overhaul.

Today it was low rise jeans and a blue and white pinstripe button up over a white tank top. Although there was no cleavage involved, it hugged her body well enough to show off her attributes without looking skanky. The sleeves were rolled up past her elbow and pressed, typical dad behavior, and a pair of brown leather mules styled to look vaguely like moccasins.

Sliding into the second row seat behind the driver's, she rolled her eyes when she caught Carlos' wandering ones. Considering two minutes later he was checking out Evan, she didn't take it to heart. She was pretty sure her sister's skirt not only violated dress code but the Geneva Convention.

"Yeah, yeah, and you look like a Latin heartthrob, as usual."

"What about me?"

There was no denying that both Ramone brothers were attractive. Lean and lanky with muscles that came from playing soccer for years on end, Carlos was the tallest of the boys, brushing 6'1". Deeply tanned, it only made his bright smile stand out more. He'd let his hair grow out until it was shaggy and Dorothy Ann was forever pushing it out of his chocolate brown eyes, much to everyone's annoyance. Especially her own. His wardrobe consisted of the soccer jerseys from his favorite teams: his own, Manchester United, and Italy; along with _carefully distressed_ jeans, Phoebe's term, and _new _vintage t-shirts, something that Tim never let up about. He dressed up nicely, but, rarely did so. Last year's Walkerville Green Jays jersey, jeans, and expensive running shoes were apparently what he'd managed to confiscate from the clean clothes pile buried somewhere in his room.

Mikey, on the other hand, had seemed to grow out where his brother had grown up, probably standing about 5'7" or 5'8". A mechanical whiz, the sophomore spent a lot of his time attempting to restore his dad's '68 El Camino from disrepair in the Ramone's second garage. When he wasn't buried in a Physics textbook or kicking ass in video games, he was working out. This resulted in a _very _nicely built Mikey Ramone. While he had his brother's coloring, he kept his hair shorter and gelled to mussed perfection. He'd suddenly taken a liking to slacks with belts, nice button ups, and semi-dressy shoes; the why was anyone's guess.

Taking in his dark green dress shirt tucked into charcoal grey slacks, Dorothy Ann couldn't help but smile. "Wouldn't want to inflate you ego, kiddo, but you look ready for the cover of GQ."

"Yeah Geeks and Que…"

"Evan!"

"What?"

"Language, please."

The boys cracked up in the front seat, used Evan's attitude by now, and the group settled into an easy silence amid the stylings of Jack Johnson crooning from the CD player. Carlos's taste in music was _varied _and no one really questioned it.

DA thought it probably had something to do with getting hit upside the head with a soccer ball too many times.

---

The cafeteria was packed by the time she made it out of AP Chemistry. Somehow Mr. Roberts had managed to strong arm her into tutoring, _again_. She'd tried telling him that she was StuCo secretary, president of the French and Astronomy clubs as well as NHS, and the student editor of the yearbook but he wouldn't take no for an answer. But she could manage, right? Even with weekends spent doing odd jobs at the Walkerville Planetarium; it was just one stupid football player.

She was Dorothy Ann Brighton, after all. She could handle _anything._

Except for dead birds in the backyard, William Michael's temper tantrums, and Florrie Johnson flirting with Carlos.

Their table was fairly quiet when DA finally plopped down in the vacant seat beside Phoebe. Although, as seniors, they all had lunch together, over the years they'd managed to spread out. Carlos flitted between their table and the soccer team's, noting the lack of bad jokes, today was apparently a soccer day. Tim holed himself up in the Fine Arts wing and Wanda usually used lunch as an opportunity to catch up with the gossip in the bathroom.

"Where's Arnold?" Since he was usually glued to Phoebe's face during lunch, it was odd that he wasn't at the table.

"Oh, the swim team had a pre-season match in Beaumont today. We've been in school barely three weeks and they're already having swim meets…" Phoebe shook her head and went back to pushing her three bean chili around in its Tupperware container. Suddenly she brightened up, auburn hair falling into her eyes as she turned, "I know, you can come with me. I just cleaned the Jeep out and your house is on the way, so you wouldn't have to worry about Evan…"

"I can't, Pheebs, I start tutoring this afternoon…"

"How about later, then, after the meet? We could all go out for smoothies or something…"

"I've got to watch William Michael tonight. Mom's started teaching a night class at the community college and Dad's got to take Evan to Houston for some cheer…"

"All right, all right, I get it. You're busy." Phoebe went back to half heartedly relocating her beans, effectively shutting off conversation.

"Ralphie and I would go with you, Phoebe, but idiot over here got himself extra workouts for being late to practice." Keesha rolled her eyes as Ralphie blanched and DA knew exactly where it was headed. Keesha and Ralphie weren't even officially dating, but, ever since they'd started sticking their tongues down each other's throats in June, ever other day meant bickering.

"Well, I wouldn't have been late if somebody wouldn't have decided at the last minute she needed to pick up her grandma's prescription."

"Well if somebody would learn how to manage his time properly,"

"It's not my fault somebody wants to jump me every time we're…"

"Stop it, just stop it!" Phoebe stood up suddenly, knocking cold chili all over the top of the table. "There are some of us trying to eat," apparently the spilled chili was being ignored, "and all the arguing is leading to indigestion." She squeaked when she realized they were attracting an audience and, quickly grabbing her things, ran off.

Rolling her eyes, Dorothy Ann realized it was her duty as best friend to hurry after the crazed vegetarian and figure out what was wrong. "Fine, I'll go. Since this is your fault, you guys can clean it up."

Three weeks into the beginning of senior year and someone was already having an emotional crisis. Joy.

---

She never had been able to find Phoebe and, figuring she'd probably hid the choir room, DA decided to leave well enough alone. The day went by fast and without much incident, and before she knew it she was in English Lit. It was nice because Carlos was in her class, which meant it was never boring, the teacher, Mrs. Monroe, was also the yearbook sponsor, and she'd read most of the books that they'd be going over that year.

Because it was soccer season, somehow Walkerville High was able to support a football and soccer team, DA was stuck driving the Caravan in the afternoons; Mr. Ramone picked Carlos up from practice on his way home from work.

She caught up with Mikey in the sophomore hall and managed to steer him away from a group of flustered girls before his Ramone charm managed to melt them into a puddle. Evan caught up with them in the parking lot looking pissed. Apparently the principle had seen her sometime between second and third period and made her change into a pair of ratty sweats and an old Homecoming t-shirt.

Which meant they, meaning Dorothy Ann and Mikey, spent the entire ride to the Ramone's listening to how horrible and fashion backward the Walkerville High administration was. She felt like banging her head against the Caravan's nice, thick windows.

She'd managed to drop both off without much incident and after a quick chat with Mrs. Ramone, confiscated the van for a trip downtown to the library. Thankfully Mikey didn't have any plans, or she would have had to take the Focus. She _hated_ the Focus. Besides, the van came with special parking privileges that she only ever used if she was extremely, exceptionally late. Even after fighting school traffic, she still managed to make it to the library with fifteen minutes to spare.

See, she told herself, it could be done.

Setting up in the room designated by Mr. Roberts, she was pulling her Chemistry I textbook out of her bag when the door opened and a familiar figure walked in.

"DA?"

"Ralphie, what the hell are you…oh."

Oh shit was more like it.

---

**Note: **Well, that would be the first chapter. I'm not sure exactly how much I like it, hopefully this third revision will grow on me. It just felt…wordy, I guess. Then again, it's my first stab at MSB fanfiction, so it could just be insecurity setting in. Reviews are always nice and Chapter 2 will be all Ralphie Tennelli, POV-wise anyway.


	2. Preventative Measures

**Standby**

_**Chapter 2: Preventative Measures**_

---

_I've not made amends for yesterday  
My lips won't get me out of it  
Waking up dreading hearing tales  
Of all my nightmares being true_

_Ask Me How I Am, Snow Patrol_

---

Coach Whitmoore was stupid, Ralphie wasn't.

That mantra kept him going through his mile jog around the neighborhood at five thirty in the morning. And again at breakfast and again when his mom asked him, _for the third time_, if he'd gone in for his physical. And especially when he told her, _for the fifth time_, that yes, he had. With his grandpa on a seniors' cruise and his dad taking up odd hours again, thank you Walkerville Police Department, he was the only one left in the house to pick on. Which was why he'd shown up at Keesha' thirty seven minutes and twelve seconds early and promptly gotten chewed out before even stepping up on the first porch step.

Yes, Coach Whitmoore was stupid, not Ralphie, who stood on the front porch for five minutes _after_ Keesha griped him out for being early. He'd also had the piece of mind to keep his mouth shut after she'd opened the door to let him in. Last time he'd checked, _unofficial girlfriends _weren't supposed to require so much upkeep. Hell, the only thing him and Wanda had done last year was make out every time they were alone in a room. She never yelled at him.

Well, except for the time he told Carlos and Tim about her itty, bitty tiny thong with pink bullfrogs all over it. And it'd somehow gotten back to Arnold. And Wanda. Okay, so, maybe _that _had been stupid.

"Ralphie," Keesha was focused on putting the right number of pills in her grandma's pill counter and Ralphie was focused feeding her Golden Retriever, Henry, the remnants of the calzone his mother had forced on him earlier in the morning. "You can't just show up like that. I've got chores and I've got to get ready…"

"You look fine to me," and she did, he didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

"…and you could've woken Grannie up." She was giving him _the look_ that either meant she was going to yell at him for inadvertently poisoning the dog or she was going to push him up against the wall and take advantage of him.

Yeah, Ralphie thought, he wasn't stupid, he had _Keesha Franklin _wrapped around his little finger. Most of the time anyway.

---

Puberty had been good to Ralphie Tennelli. Before eight grade, baby fat made him look like he couldn't play a sport, never mind four, to save his life. It hadn't mattered if he could run the fastest, after Carlos that damn Mexican speed demon, or that he was strong, the only thing people saw was pudgy little Ralphie Tennelli. _Thank God_ for puberty.

Granted, the early period had been filled with pimples, an incessantly cracking voice, and a sudden compulsion to go jack off to the oddest things. Like the thought of Ms. Frizzle in stockings and a garter belt. He hadn't been able to talk to girls, ate all the time, and had suddenly become so clumsy the Little League coach threatened to put him in the dugout. Yeah, that had sucked, in the hard core prison porn movie sort of way.

But he'd gotten over that pretty fast.

Then there'd been the _good_ part of puberty. He'd shot up like a weed and just like that all the baby fat had found somewhere it could go be useful. Years of gym participation, urging his friends into impromptu basketball games, and summer sports camps had finally paid off. He might not be as tall as Carlos, he was somewhere in the neighborhood of 5'11", but he had more muscles than Carlos. And not in the weird, Mr. Universe, body builder sort of way. Ralphie Tennelli had muscles in a nice, defined, noticeable sort of way.

Nice arms and a flat chest, _take that man boobs_, not to mention a stomach that, while it wasn't quite washboard quality, had the faint outline of abs in the making. He'd left his hair pretty much as is, not wanting to mess with a good thing, and his red baseball cap became a trademark. His style, as Keesha put it, was 'I don't really give a fuck because I look that damn good.' Generally he was a jeans, t-shirt, and wind breaker sort of guy at least until the middle of May and picking up again once school started. He thought his perpetual farmers tan was sexy and didn't see the point of shorts unless he was playing basketball.

Keesha, however, had been a totally different story. In the way that, and he was ashamed to admit this, he'd noticed DA before he'd noticed her. Not only had Keesha had boobs before DA but she also hadn't been wearing a variant of her elementary school clothes all the way through middle school. _That's _how bad puberty had been.

She'd gotten tall, not as tall as Phoebe, but had gained weight to go along with the height. Apparently, according to Ralphie's mother, some girls coped with the hormonal floodgates opening by eating everything in sight. Ralphie had joked once that Keesha probably ate in her sleep. Everyone, even Carlos which wasn't fair because he'd laughed, had shunned him for a week. Top that off with a face that broke out when you looked at it funny and overly chemically processed hair, it was a wonder she'd made it out of middle school in one piece.

Sometime around the middle of sophomore year, things had started to come together for her. She slimmed down by joining Ralphie on his early morning jogs and suddenly her boobs were very, _very_ prominent in a very, _very _nice way. Keesha was curvy and leggy and did things with her amazingly curly, out-of-control hair that only made her neck seem longer. She had a thing for thrift store shopping and did things like cute dresses with boots and Bermuda shorts with heels.

He liked when she wore dresses, especially times like _now_ when they were making out in the back of his Silverado with about fifteen minutes left before they had to go to school. And he was just about to put the freer range of motion to good use when she opened her mouth, not to apply it to a pleasant task, but to speak.

Talking during hot make out sessions never led to anything good. It usually ended up with him in the dog house.

"So, Arnold's got a swim meet in Beaumont today and I think we should go for Phoebe."

"For Phoebe? Why aren't we going for Arnold?" She'd stopped making those cute panting noises and, had he been paying attention, Ralphie would have known he was in trouble. "I mean, it's Arnold's swim meet, after all. And why are they having a swim meet now? School's only been in session for three weeks and…"

"You are such an idiot sometimes." Keesha pushed up and scooted off from where she was straddling his waist. Securing her hair back up into a complex twist, she gave him a look that _almost_ made his balls retreat from where they'd dropped. "We're going for Phoebe because she's going to Beaumont to support Arnold. She doesn't really know the girlfriends of the other swim team members and certainly doesn't know anyone in Beaumont. Besides, Arnold doesn't care if we go or not…"

"Then why are we going again?"

"For _Phee-bee_, our poor, painfully shy friend. Remember?"

The only thing he wanted to remember was how nice her breasts felt in his hands. Obviously that wasn't happening any time soon. And then he remembered something extremely less pleasant but not entirely off topic.

"I can't."

"And why is that?"

Ralphie was pretty sure that Keesha was attempting to quirk her left eyebrow _hard_ and he wasn't about to tell her she was failing miserably. After all, Coach Whitmoore was stupid, he wasn't. So there was absolutely no need to tell her…

"Extra practice. Practices. Since I showed up late last week because we had to pick up your grandma's pills."

"Prescriptions."

He ignored her, they were _not_ going to turn into DA and Carlos who bickered constantly over the dumbest things and they weren't even making out yet. Hell, they weren't even dating. Or pretending to date. Or whatever he and Keesha were doing.

"Anyway, since it set a bad example for the underclassmen, he wants me to come to the extra practices they usually save for the stupid freshmen. Probably just a lot of laps and stuff but..."

"You can't miss it."

"Nope." She smoothed out her dress and studied his face for a minute before climbing into the cab of the truck. Only Keesha could make it look graceful. Ralphie usually just saved himself the trouble, climbed out of the bed, and got in the driver's side door.

He was surprised how easy it was to lie to her.

"Okay, that's fine. Are you still going to be able to pick me up from school? Last time I tried to ride home with Phoebe one of the piles of trash became a sentient being and tried to eat me."

They both laughed and he could feel the pressure easing off his chest. "Yeah, I can drop you off, practice won't start until later. It's okay, me missing the swim meet?"

"Yeah."

Lying this easily set a bad precedent. Because Ralphie Tennelli _did not_ want to think of all the other things he could get away with. Mostly because Keesha was a pretty good almost girlfriend, that and his mom would channel some long dead Italian relative and yell at him if she ever found out.

Somehow, he'd managed to put himself in the dog house.

---

He'd almost been late. Mr. Hanson, his Trig teacher, had pulled him aside to talk about _another _late assignment. It hadn't really been that late, just a day, and he'd been busy with practice and his other late assignments that really, it was more like it was on time than anything else. Ralphie had thought his logic had won out until Mr. Hanson threatened to tell Coach Whitmoore if it ever happened again.

That had sucked.

Then he hadn't been able to find Keesha who was, it turned out, in the bathroom finding out that Florrie had flirted with Robert Hanes in front of Carlos in a desperate attempt to make him jealous. Keesha's words, not his own. Which Ralphie found odd because, despite his reputation, the only girl Carlos had ever gotten to second base with was Phoebe and that had been in the ninth grade.

And no one _ever _talked about it.

By the time he'd gotten Keesha home there hadn't been any time for a quick make out session, not to mention her grandma was standing on the porch watching them, and he'd barely had time to fill up his truck before heading over to the library.

In theory, it was a simple concept. He'd meet with a tutor twice a week, after today it would be at their choosing, and work on Chemistry. Last year, with football and basketball and being junior class rep, he'd barely managed to scrape out a "C," which was the minimum he'd needed to keep his eligibility. That's why he'd dropped StuCo, Tiffany Johansen had wanted to be senior rep more than him anyway, and decided to just focus on sports and school work.

Easier said than done.

Football took up a good chunk of his free time. He had his morning jog and then first period was dedicated to weight lifting. Seventh period was when they stretched, went over new plays, and generally talked each other up. After school got out, there was practice at the stadium until five or six, depending which position you played. Which was why he'd been able to take Keesha home from school. Next week, it wouldn't matter, it'd be full team practice and finding time to study would be harder than ever. By the time he got home, he'd be sweaty and exhausted and would just want to eat and go to sleep.

But if his grades slipped, like Whitmoore was apparently expecting, he wouldn't be allowed to play with the team until he got them back up again. And it sucked when the team's first string quarterback got benched because of grades.

Gritting his teeth, Ralphie steeled himself for the tutoring session and was surprised to see a blonde head popping up from under the table.

"DA?"

"Ralphie, what the hell are you…oh."

He wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, he took the seat across from her.

"Coach said its preventative measures, so I don't get benched my last year. You know, when all the scouts are looking."

She gave him a blank stare that said she had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"I thought you said…"

And now the lying was coming back to bite him in the ass. "Keesha is StuCo VP, runs the school newspaper, and manages to keep a three point nine something GPA while taking AP classes. If I tell her I can't keep a freaking C average, I'll look like an idiot." There, he'd said it.

"Okay, but, you are going to tell her, right?" This was coming from the person who managed to keep a secret for _four years_ that she was the one, and not Ralphie, who had stuffed Phoebe's training bra in the Perlsteins' freezer during their first, and only, co-ed sleepover in the seventh grade. "I mean, she'll understand if you…"

"No!" She jumped and he immediately felt like a jackass, "I just can't. No one but you, Coach, and Mr. Roberts knows and I kind of want to keep it that way. I mean, really, it's three weeks into the semester and I already need a tutor."

"Hey, it's all right, okay?" Ralphie wondered if DA felt like she was talking down a jumper from a building ledge.

"Okay."

"So, tell me what you're having problems with and I'll see what I can do."

---

**Note: **All right, that's chapter 2 and I feel so much better. I kind of feel stupid for all the long descriptions (Ralphie and Keesha this time 'round), but, since I've never written MSB before, I feel like I'm making up my own fanon as I go. It's probably just as much for me as it is for you. I hope it isn't too horribly tedious. Phoebe or Wanda next time, it's still up in the air.


	3. Spontaneous Combustion

**Standby**

_**Chapter 3: Spontaneous Combustion**_

---

_And it's simply irrational weather  
Can't even hear myself think  
Constantly bailing out water  
But still like I'm gonna sink_

_Under the Weather, KT Tunstall_

---

For the record, Phoebe Kathleen Terese _was not_ built like a twelve year old boy.

Granted, she was tall for a girl, 5'9", and she was slender. Yes, _slender_, not _skinny_, _stick-like_, or _anorexic_, thank you very much Wanda. And while her hipbones were somewhat noticeable and you could see her top two ribs when she stretched, she _had_ curves. The 'girls,' she refused to call them boobs, breasts, or Arnold pillows, the latter being Carlos's suggestion, might only be in the mid-B cup range but they weren't anything to laugh at.

So what if Keesha had a pair of double Ds since the sixth grade? After having them for nearly six years they certainly weren't as bouncy anymore. And the _only_ reason Wanda's 32 Cs looked good in a sports bra during drill team practice was because she wore a _push up bra_ underneath. Really the only reason Phoebe didn't begrudge DA her 36 Cs was because she'd had them less than six months. Still, it really wasn't fair that Phoebe had her 'girls' longer and she was still stuck at a 34 B.

And maybe it was a little odd that she knew bra sizes of her three closest friends. And yes, she commented on DA's _assets _more often than Carlos and Ralphie combined. Okay, so she'd also snuck a peak when Wanda flashed a group of seniors from Beaumont Christian last year, even though she swore she'd kept her eyes closed the entire time.

Phoebe Kathleen Terese also wanted it known, for the record, that she _was not _a lesbian.

Fortunately, this fact could be attested to by Arnold Micah Perlstein.

Looking in the mirror, Phoebe also knew she wasn't absolutely gorgeous, like Florrie Johnson, nor was she completely plain, like Kimberly Smith. She was just Phoebe. She'd cut her auburn hair right before school started, much to everyone's surprise, and it now hung around her face in angular bob that hit right below her chin. She had bangs that came just below her eyebrows, but unless she really cared, they usually got clipped back with a barrette. Her skin wouldn't tan, no matter how many deities she prayed to, but if she stepped out into the sun for more than five minutes, her body exploded into a mass of freckles. Careful application of sunblock had limited them to the bridge of her nose, her upper back, and the tops of her shoulders. She was really looking forward to keeping it that way.

Fashion-wise, she usually wore pencil skirts, because they actually made it look like she had an ass, and either button front polos with a tank top or long sleeved scoop neck shirts. She only ever wore square toed flats or boots because they were the only shoes that didn't make her look like she had clown feet. She'd tried a pair of Converse, because DA swore by them, and it looked like her feet had grown three sizes.

Phoebe had wanted to burn those shoes, but the sales lady would have probably minded. Especially since she was going to burn them in the showroom.

And even though she always laid her clothes out the night before, took quicker showers than Arnold, and wore less makeup than DA, she still found herself running late almost every other day because she spent an hour and a half standing in front of the mirror making sure everything was _in place_ before she rushed out the door.

Also, for the record, Phoebe Kath…damn it, she _did not_ have low self esteem. And, even so, it was a bright and cheery Wednesday morning, about a week and a half after the _Three Bean Chili Incident_ and she was probably going to be late for first period if the Jeep didn't start on the first try.

The Jeep, as it was affectionately called, was a cherry red '87 Jeep Wrangler that was threatening to fall apart. Since its purchase, it had pretty much become a second bedroom. There were never less than two different outfits stashed under the passenger seat, it was surprising how often those came in handy, along with numerous textbooks, graded essays, various homework assignments, her old trombone, and a McDonald's bag or two. To Phoebe the Jeep meant unparalleled freedom and awesome make out sessions with Arnold. To everyone else, the Jeep was a death trap, a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. And, today, she was liable to agree.

"Hey, cutie, to you wanna ride?"

Today would not include using God's name in vain, kicking the Jeep until she jammed her toe, or fishing the jumper cables out of the mess on the floor. Because today her wonderful, thoughtful, amazing boyfriend had decided to surprise her with a ride to school. Turning around, she attempted to convey every ounce of appreciation she had for him in her smile before sliding into his truck and buckling in.

Of all their friends, Arnold was the only one with a new vehicle. His parents had bought him a '06 Toyota Tacoma partially because he was spoiled rotten and partially because Janet had _accidentally demolished_ about a quarter of his rock collection in mid-April. Arnold's uncle had _accidentally_ sent his daughter to a four week anger management course around the end of May. Unlike the Jeep, the Tacoma smelled good, looked good, and was never, ever anything but absolutely clean. They always ended up making out in the Jeep and Phoebe suspected it was because Arnold didn't want to risk getting some kind of _stainage_ on his baby.

She really didn't care all that much, the Jeep could take it. The Jeep wasn't a pussy.

"Have I told you lately how much I completely, totally, absolutely adore you? Miss Steinner would have killed me if I would have shown up to choir late. Jeez, I think she's going through menopause or something. Remind me again why I signed up for choir again this year?"

"Because you have an amazing voice, like the group dynamic, and get to skip seventh period every Friday to go sing with third graders at the elementary school."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around, other than for your amazing body, of course."

And Arnold really did have an amazing body. So maybe he wasn't Carlos, who was tall and lanky and handsome in a dark, Latin way. And, maybe, he wasn't Ralphie, who had All-American good looks that just screamed future politician, or, at the very least, future Heisman Trophy winner. He was, however, in the neighborhood of 6 foot and three years on the swim team had given him nice, broad shoulders and a full six pack.

He'd traded his glasses for contacts somewhere around the 7th grade and while Phoebe appreciated the fumble-free kissing that contacts provided, she still got a certain thrill when she caught him at his house early Sunday mornings and he was still wearing his thin wire framed glasses. Arnold's hair hadn't gotten any less orange, although he insisted it was _strawberry blonde_ which Ralphie insisted was gay, but had grown a little longer and was now a shaggy mass of waves that curled a little at the nape of his neck. Phoebe liked it best when he wore polos and jeans, but, of all the boys, he developed some kind of _fashion sense_ and was often one of the better dressed guys at Walkerville High.

Somewhere around the time she started dreaming about Arnold in cashmere sweaters and pinstripe slacks, an incessant poking in her right shoulder brought Phoebe back to reality.

"Yes?"

"You were starting to drool." He grinned and she blushed, which meant it was starting out like every other Arnold-Phoebe conversation. "Anyway, I was wondering what you were doing this weekend." He had _that look_ which was generally okay because, before That Day, it had meant they were going to go down to Lake Dupree and make out like two hormone-crazed teenagers, which they were.

But, since it had been nearly two months after That Day, Phoebe knew _that look_ really only meant one thing. Arnold Micah Perlstein wanted to have sex like any normal, hormone-crazed teenager.

Unfortunately, Phoebe didn't. Or didn't think she wanted to. Or, at the very least, wasn't sure whether she did or didn't want to. Really, it was all very confusing.

"Umm, I'm…going to be late to class. Later, babe." She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and hurried towards the Fine Arts hallway like her ass was on fire. Thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph for Miss Steinner because, otherwise, Phoebe would have had to explain herself to her amazing, wonderful, thoughtful boyfriend…which was something she'd been neglecting to do for the last two months.

---

"I hate, hate, _hate_ Arnold Micah Perlstein." Although she put more than a little emphasis on that third and final hate, Phoebe spoke loudly enough that Evan looked at her from the corner of her overly made up eyes and shook her head slowly.

"Excuse me, but some of us are trying to listen to music that was actually written this century."

"At least Bob Dylan can actually sing, smart ass." This was from DA who was unusually fond of Bob Dylan, The Beatles, and surprisingly, Duran Duran. "Just go back and listen to your trash music, the grown ups are trying to have a conversation."

Arnold had swim practice after school and while he would have been fine with her taking the Tacoma home from school, Phoebe knew it would have meant she'd have to pick him up, which would have meant more of _that look_, which would have lead to talking and she wasn't really ready for that.

This could be evidence by the fact that she knocked her music stand into Tiffany's head _three times_ during choir, was late to three classes because she swore she was going to have a mini emotional break down en route, and nearly pulled a replay of the _Three Bean Chili Incident_ before Keesha took her aside and told her to calm her crazy white ass down. DA, who was her designated support person, had been strangely absent at the time.

"Anyway, what's this about hating Arn? I thought you loved him with a fiery passion that burned brighter than a thousand suns?" They were in the Caravan, which meant DA had already bribed Mikey with five bucks and candy bar to keep his mouth shut. One day it was going to be lap dances and jello shots, but, Phoebe didn't want to give Mikey any ideas. "What's with you lately anyway, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"No, I'm not pregnant, you've got to have _sex_ before you can get pregnant." Ever since Arnold asked her out in the ninth grade, DA blamed every little ailment on Phoebe being pregnant. It'd only gotten worse when the blonde had walked in on them last year, Phoebe's skirt around her waist and her bra somewhere the vicinity of Arnold's ceiling fan. It was more annoying than embarrassing, except for the time when Phoebe had gotten sick at one of Ralphie's parties and DA had called out from the hallway, asking if she had a bun in the oven.

No one, especially Arnold, had let her forget about it. He still asked occasionally if she was seeing the milkman.

"Okay, so, you're not pregnant and…and…well, hell, what else could be wrong? Choir really isn't a high on the pressure scale, the only really hard class you're taking is Pre-Calculus and I'm taking it with you, you're French club _treasurer_ which means you sit around and count money we don't have, and…seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

For the first time in nearly nine years, Dorothy Ann Brighton was raining on a Phoebe Terese pity party. Somewhere in hell, another circle had frozen over.

"Que?"

"That's Spanish…"

"Thank you, Mikey, I _know_ it's Spanish…"

"Don't take your shitty mood out on Mikey, damn it. Seriously, Pheebs, what the hell?"

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Obviously attempts had shaking up the relationship dynamic were going nowhere. As it stood, DA was Phoebe's designated _therapist_. And for whatever reason, probably because Phoebe sucked at giving advice unless it was Tim-related, DA dumped almost all of her problems on Carlos. The only problems Phoebe got stuck with were those that related to push up bras, DA was the only one of the girls who shopped at Victoria Secret, and which French club member they were going to plot to murder next. Florrie had been on the top of the list for nearly two and a half weeks. Phoebe was pretty sure it had something to do with Carlos, but, she wasn't about to ask.

"So, are you going to tell me what is going on in that malfunctioning brain of yours?"

"No."

"What? Why?"

"Not no as is never, just no as in not right now. Can you come over once you drop the kids off?"

DA nodded, probably noticing that Mikey had already finished his candy bar and was pretending to be extra _uninterested_ and Evan had sat up a little straighter and wasn't mouthing along to the lyrics of the latest over hyped teenage whor—singers. "Yeah, I just can't stay long; I've got to pick Carlos up from practice tonight. His dad is on a business trip in Dallas."

And even though she only had to wait an extra fifteen minutes, and what was two months compared to fifteen minutes, Phoebe ended up bawling her eyes out somewhere between Buckner Road and Dahlia Street. It really was terribly, horribly embarrassing.

---

"He what?"

"He…thinksitstimetomovetothenextlevel…"

"What?"

"ARNOLD WANTS TO HAVE SEX!"

"Okay, woah, wait," DA's eyes glazed over in a way that screamed _brain overload_ and Phoebe allowed her a couple minutes to regain complete neurological function, "you guys aren't having sex yet?"

"No! What? Why would you say that?" Okay, the why was completely, utterly obvious.

"Okay, so I know I'm not keen on all the kinky stuff you kids are into these days, but, in my world, half nakedness is usually a hop, skip, and a jump away from whole nakedness and that usually means sex. Especially where teenage boys are involved."

If Phoebe didn't love DA in a non-stalkerish, completely heterosexual sort of way, she'd probably hate her for being right 99 percent of the time.

"I just don't know if I'm ready yet. Arnold was my first _everything_," except for first French kiss which had gone to Ralphie in the back of his mom's VW Passat during one of her and Arnold's infamous breaks during sophomore year, "and every other time it felt _right_ but this time…"

"Honey, that's normal,"

"What?"

"No matter what pop culture has led you to believe, losing your virginity is a big deal…"

Phoebe really, _really_ hoped this wasn't going to turn into a speech worthy of an after school special.

"..and it would be better if you _stopped rolling your fucking eyes at me_ and went and talked to Arnold about this. He isn't going to pressure you into sex…"

She knew that.

"…and it'll probably stop you from freaking out every fifteen minutes."

At least she hoped, anyway. Well, at the very least, she wasn't pregnant.

---

**Note:** My department manager asks me if I'm pregnant _every time_ I come into work and say I'm not feeling very well. Like Phoebe, I find it very annoying. So anyway, that was chapter three. I would like to thank my two lovely reviewers for jumping on the _we don't think you write crap_ bandwagon and making me feel like I'm doing something at least half way decently. Carlos is next, mostly because he hasn't gotten much love and I think he's hot.


	4. Falling into Place

**Standby**

_**Chapter 4: Falling into Place**_

---

_You say you feel like a natural person  
You haven't got nothing to hide  
So why do you feel imperfection  
Cut like a sword in your side_

_Under the Weather, KT Tunstall_

---

"I don't think Keesha and I are going to make it."

Carlos and Ralphie were laid out in the bed of the Silverado, cooling down after practice. Well, Carlos was cooling down after soccer practice _and _waiting for Dorothy Ann to come pick him up. Ralphie was waiting for the second part of football practice to start up. Lifting his head up and opening an eye, Carlos briefly wondered why everyone came to him and D.A. for relationship advice.

"Make what?"

"Make _it_, as in staying together as a couple." Ralphie was obviously upset; otherwise he would have said something about the lame attempt at a joke. "We argue all the time and the only time we shut up is when we're making out. She doesn't know _anything_ about sports, except the fact that Tony Romo is hot, and I think that she thinks I'm cheating on her."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Cheating, blockhead." He'd known Ralphie since kindergarten; they were the ones that got a kickball game going at every recess. Ralphie had always been honest, straight to the point, and not the type to complain about the hot chick he was currently dating. But, lately, he'd been sneaking off to 'extra practices,' avoiding Keesha during lunch, and ducking most forms of serious conversation. "I know for a fact Coach W didn't assign you extra practices, now, spill it. You're not sneaking around with Janet, are you? Everyone knows she sleeps around."

Considering he'd only kissed three people, Janet, Florrie, and Phoebe, had made it to second base _before_ French kissing, and had never had a steady girlfriend, Carlos didn't understand why all the guys came to him when they were having girl problems. Sure, he _dated_, he'd taken Connie Chao on a date last weekend, but it never went anywhere. So, while he had an impressive record as far as number of girls was concerned, he was pretty sure geeky Phil Masterson had gotten farther than him.

It was only slightly more embarrassing than the time Phoebe had thrown herself at him in the Perlsteins' basement after her first knock out, drag out fight with Arnold. Somehow his hands had ended up on her, virtually non-existent, breasts and it had ended in a very awkward, uncomfortable silence. Everyone knew about it because they'd found out the next day when she'd shouted it over the Perlsteins' dinner table; no one talked about it because the idea of Carlos and Phoebe fooling around disturbed the natural order of things.

Sometimes it felt like all things awkward and embarrassing happened at either the Perlsteins' or in Dr. Tennelli's Passat. Not that he should be thinking about _that_, he needed to be focusing on Ralphie.

"I'm not cheating on Keesha, swear to God, man." There was an edge in his voice that made Carlos want to add 'yet,' but, he held his tongue. "It's just…I thought things would get better, you know? Hell, Arnold and Phoebe fought when they first started going out. They were broken up more in sophomore year than they actually dated and look at them now: super couple."

"Yeah, but that's Arnold and Phoebe. Besides, we all know it was because Phoebe was just starting to go through puberty then, that and the fact she was jealous that all the girls were hot for the pretty _strawberry blonde_."

"Yeah." He kind of felt bad for Ralphie, in the way you feel bad for kicked puppies and cats without tails that should have them. "I just thought I'd end up having more in common with the girl I was dating. I mean, Keesh is hot and she does this thing with her…"

"Ralphie!"

"What?"

"I doubt she'd want you sharing that with the class."

"Oh, yeah, you're probably right. I just, I dunno…"

Yeah, Ralphie was definitely giving off the 'cats without tails that should have them' vibe. This breakup was evidently going to call for a guys' night and plenty of booze. He'd better start begging his cousin, Robbie, for a twenty four pack of something.

"TENNELLI! Stop gabbing with your boyfriend and get your ass back to the field." Carlos looked over the raised tailgate to see Coach W yelling into a megaphone. "And Ramone, your _wife_ is waiting for you."

"Good luck, _baby cakes_."

"Have fun, _sugar face_."

As long as there were going to be gay rumors, there might as well be something to actually talk about.

---

"I'm so stressed out, Carlos; I think I'm going to die." The benefits of being best friends with a smart, sarcastic, absolutely beautiful blonde were demonstrated to Carlos on an almost daily basis. He especially like it when she plopped down on his lap facing him and then proceeded to run her fingers through his hair. Just because they were _just friends_ didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her apparently subconscious need to touch him. He was a guy, after all. "I can't believe I have Pre-Calc, French III, and AP Euro tests all on the same day. Someone," she shook her dainty, DA sized fist at the ceiling, "up there is out to get me."

"Nah, just trying to keep you on your toes." She was beginning to look more than a little deranged though. While he wasn't about to admit, she'd probably kick is ass, Carlos was starting to worry about his Annie. Well, not _his_ per say, but, the worry was there all the same. "Here, turn around and I'll give you a shoulder massage. You just have to promise not to sue if you end up in a puddle on the floor."

She laughed at his joke, which was rarely a good sign, but turned around anyway. Somehow, and he never quite figured out how, they'd never gotten around to dating. It probably had something to do with the fact that they had very, very busy lives and had been friends since the first grade. Ralphie had _accidentally_ kicked in him in the balls trying to get Wanda's attention and DA had rushed over to see if he was all right.

He still figured they were going to get married and have fifty children once they got out of college. They had to get laid sometime and, by the time they got married there would be lots of built up sexual frustration to work through. Or something like that.

"So, are you coming to the game on Thursday night?" It was the soccer team's first qualifying game of the season and he was more than a little excited. He was team captain for the first time in four years; getting his captain's arm band had almost been as awesome as the time he accidentally walked in on Dorothy Ann changing out of her swimsuit at Wanda's in mid-July.

Almost as awesome, but not quite. Mostly because she'd actually had breasts at the time.

"I can't, I already made plans." She suddenly dropped her eyes and began studying the hole at the bottom of his t-shirt very intently. "Sorry."

"But _Annie_ it's the first real game of the season. You went to _all_ of my games last year." Yes, he was whining, but, Carlos Alejandro Ramone was so good at whining that it usually solved the majority of his problems, short term anyway.

"I have tests to study for, Carlos. Not to mention two clubs to run, plans to finalize with the NHS sponsor so we can actually do Habitat for Humanity in a couple of weeks, we need to start picking layouts for yearbook, and, last time I checked, StuCo meetings didn't take notes by themselves." By now she'd gotten up from his lap, red faced, and was pacing around the room. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans that didn't revolve around you?"

"But Annie…"

"Don't Annie me, Mister." Looking down at her watch, she made a little sound in the back of her throat before racing for the door. "Look, I've got to go do my tutoring thing…we can continue this argument later."

Picking his jaw up from the floor, _Annie_ had always worked before, Carlos made to stand up but fell right back onto the couch after deciding that standing was too much effort.

"Don't worry man," Mikey called out from his bedroom and Carlos just knew his younger brother had a self satisfied smirk on his face, "the Brighton women are all crazy."

---

"DA _never_ has other plans." Carlos was sprawled spread eagle on Arnold's bed while the other boy leaned back in his computer chair until the back touched the wall. "I mean, last year, she rescheduled an Astronomy club meeting so she could get to my game in Port Arthur on time."

"It's because women are crazy, my fine Latino friend. Maybe there's something in the water?" Carlos could only nod in agreement. If only they could borrow the bus and take a field trip to the Walkerville water treatment plant. Maybe things would start making sense then. "Speaking of women, have you talk to Tim lately?"

Rather than mind the change in subject, he relished in it. They'd been talking about how crazy DA was for over an hour. "No, now that you mention it, I don't think I've talked to him since movie night at Ralphie's…"

"…when Ralphie tried to pull DA's car out of the ditch…"

"…and ended up backing up into it, what, two times? We should have had a video camera, man, the look on her face, but, no, no Tim. I think he's been hanging out with all of the Art kids."

Arnold frowned and sat up for a moment. "He's been talking to Phoebe, I guess because she's in choir. I heard Connie Chao and Melissa Anders talking about it on my way to fourth period a couple of days ago. I asked Phoebe, but, she said she couldn't talk about it."

"She's your girlfriend, right?" Arnold nodded glumly. "Then why can't she talk to you about it? She should be able to talk to you about everything."

"It's probably because I asked her…" He trailed off and Carlos was pretty sure he could have heard a pin drop on Arnold's carpeted floor.

"Asked her what?"

"If she was ready to go to the next level." Carlos knew he was looking at Arnold but his eyes couldn't seem to focus past all the orange fuzz.

"The next level?"

"You know…"

"No, I don't." He was pretty sure he could hear his synapses screaming to jump ship.

"Have sex."

"You mean you haven't had sex yet?" Ever since Dorothy Ann had told him about the 'Arnold and Phoebe incident that we will discuss once and then never talk about again' he'd pretty much assumed they'd gotten naked and sweaty together. Actually, he assumed that he and Tim were the only ones of the four that hadn't gotten naked and sweaty yet.

"No, God, why does everyone think we've had sex? I mean, _hello_ virgins! First time! Unlike _some people_ we actually want it to mean something…"

"Hey, hey, I _do not_ have sex," and he really didn't want to with anyone except for Dorothy Ann. And maybe Ellen Pompeo. But that was it.

"I wasn't talking about you, asswipe, I was talking about Ralphie."

"Oh. Well, have you tried talking to her about it?"

Arnold looked at Carlos like he was mental. Hey, maybe he was, in any case he was pretty sure that DA was making him absolutely insane. "Maybe she's cheating."

"Huh, what? Phoebe would never…"

"Not _Phoebe_, Dorothy Ann. Maybe she's cheating on me."

"Dude, there's nothing to cheat on. You're not dating, you never have dated. Come to think about it, you guys haven't even kissed yet."

Okay, that was true. But, if he found out Phill or Marcus or Jamie were making a move on _his future wife_ he was going to have to beat someone. Even if they weren't dating in the least bit.

"Okay, okay, you're right, but, I still think you should talk to Phoebe."

"Remind me again why I get my relationship advice from an eighteen year old virgin who hasn't had a steady girlfriend since the seventh grade, who was my _cousin_ by the way, and who seems to have a stalkerish fascination with his best friend?"

"I am _not_ gay for Ralphie."

"Dorothy Ann, you idiot."

"Oh, right, and I _do not _have a stalkerish fascination with DA." Actually, Carlos was pretty sure he did. "And you take my advice because I am handsome, _almost _as smart as I am handsome, and seem to have an uncanny ability to get to the bottom of things."

Arnold looked up at the ceiling, cursed under his breath, and looked back over at the waiting Carlos. "You're right and I hate you for it."

And just like that, thinks were mostly back to normal. God, he really hoped Dorothy Ann wasn't cheating on him. He didn't want to get kicked off the soccer team for duct taping some unlucky bastard to the lockers. Those things usually didn't go over too well. Except for the time he duct taped Ralphie to the top of the Jeep. In his boxers. In broad daylight. That had been _awesome_.

Also, he wasn't gay for Ralphie. Really, swear on a stack of Bibles, wasn't gay for Ralphie.

---

**Note:** For some reason, Carlos and DA have been extremely hard to write for…and I love both of them to pieces. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy the story – I'm actually moving the plot forward. Shock and awe, I know. Wanda's up next, s'going to be amazing. I hope, anyway.


	5. Completely Out of my Mind

**Standby**

_**Chapter 5: Completely Out of my Mind**_

---

_Traveling swallowing Dramamine  
Feeling spaced breathing out Listerine  
I'd said what I'd said that I'd tell ya  
And that you'd killed the better part of me_

_Dramamine, Modest Mouse_

---

"Wanda, phone!"

Wanda peeked out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of the corner of her mouth, and frowned. It _had_ to be her dad and, after last month's phone call, she'd swore that she wasn't talking to him again.

"Is it Dad?"

"It's Mom, she says she…"

Before last 'm' was out of 'Mom,' Wanda was racing down the hall. Half tackling her younger brother, she yanked the phone out of his hand and spit the toothbrush, and a mouthful of foamy toothpaste, out of her mouth.

"Mom, oh my Jesus, what took you so long to call? Miss you to pieces, oh! Seriously, how's Mongolia? See any bandits? Have you gotten us any cool presents…"

"Wanda."

"Dad," covering the phone with her hand, she turned around and noticed that Will was no where in sight. "That _was not_ Mom, _William Prescott Li_. I _told you_ that I _didn't_ want to speak to Dad."

He poked his head out, obviously having decided she wasn't going to start throwing things in his general direction.

"He's still our Dad, Wanda."

"Yeah, meaning he's an oversized douche."

"I'm _telling_!"

"No, you're _not_ telling. If you do, I'll pound your weasley wimp ass into the ground. Did you know what I used to do to nine year old boys, Will? I used to make them cry." She felt a little better when he visibly gulped and ran to the relative safety of his own room. Her dad was still on the phone and it was beginning to piss her off.

"Fine, I'm talking, what do you want?" Her parents had always had a fairly strained relationship, looking back on it, they probably had her brother in an attempt to repair it. By the time Will was three, her dad wasn't spending the night anymore and the only thing her mother would say was that they were going through a trial separation. A year later, they were divorced and her dad had disappeared off the face of the Earth. He'd reappeared her freshman year, new wife in tow, and said he wanted to be a family.

New and improved with a fountain and flashing lights. Obviously, she'd hated her stepmother immediately.

When her dad realized he couldn't win her back with love, he'd tried expensive presents. She had a whole new wardrobe courtesy of Wen Li's guilt. She'd come home one day to find her bedroom had been redecorated courtesy of Wen Li's regret. And there'd almost been a '05 Porsche Boxster in her driveway last October until she told Wen Li's shame to retreat back to where his balls had gone and leave her the fuck alone. He hadn't offered to get her a new car since. Looking back, she should have probably taken the Porsche, but, kind of liked her mom's '04 Land Rover that she'd ended up inheriting for not taking the Porsche.

That wasn't the point. The point was that her dad was a douche of gigantic proportions.

"I know you're angry with me, Wanda, we didn't really end on good terms last time." She told him and his stupid bimbo trophy wife to go jump off the bridge to Padre. "But, I know your birthday is coming up and I wanted to get you something."

"Mom's already going to get me all the clothes I want and my friends will pick up all the other presents. I think I'm all set, thanks for the call, I'll…"

"I want you to come up to Houston for your birthday…"

"I'm not spending my birthday weekend with you and your stupid, hussy wife who…"

"No, we're going to be out of town," oh, apparently he didn't want to spend her birthday weekend with her either, "and Cindy suggested we let you stay at the condo while we're gone."

No, she was going to say 'no' and that was final. Of course the little Wanda in her head, the little devil one, was telling her she should take the keys and run.

"And you can invite your friends if you want. You know the ones you used to go on all the field trips with?" Yes, because it was a shame he actually remember the names of her seven closest friends.

"Sure, fine, sounds like a blast."

Who was she kidding? Both of her little Wanda's were devils and they really liked the idea of a weekend in Houston, with a fully stocked bar she might add, with no parental supervision. Suddenly she hoped her mother stayed in Mongolia for a long, long time.

---

It was lunch, which meant Wanda was camped out in The Bathroom, fixing her makeup and catching up on all the gossip she might have missed during the weekend. She decided that being captain of the drill team meant that she _had _to know what was going on around the school; otherwise, she wouldn't be keeping good tabs on her girls. It was also a very good excuse to indulge in a little petty sniping.

Only she never spread gossip unless she was certain it was true, like being there when Connie Chao puked all over Tyler Goss, and she never talked about people behind their back unless they deserved it. It didn't mean, however, that she couldn't ease drop in the bathroom while the other girls were talking.

For being a tomboy in the third grade, Wanda Li had certainly grown up. She hadn't gotten much taller, probably only hitting 5'2", but what she lacked in height, she made up in attributes. Being on the JV Cheer Squad her freshman year had really helped her to lose all the baby fat she'd been carrying around, mostly on her face and belly. Dropping cheer and taking up drill had helped her to tone muscles she didn't have and allowed her to be at all the football and basketball games without getting too sweaty.

She'd grown her shiney black hair out long and styled in jagged layers, with straight bangs, and let it hit somewhere around the middle of her back. She'd gotten boobs sometime around the ninth grade and somehow she managed to pull of Cs, she still wished she'd gotten bigger than Dorothy Ann, without looking top heavy. Her makeup was always understated, except for dramatically done eyes, and she had thing for dressing up a little like Audrey Hepburn; exuding a cool classic sophistication that she was generally lacking in all other areas of her life. As far as everyone was concerned, it was a big improvement.

Mostly because it's hard to beat someone up in a dress in heels unless you're trying to hurt yourself.

Today it was a bright red shirt dress that made her waist look tiny, she loved that, made her boobs look huge, she really loved that, and stopped at the knees. When paired with cute, open toed leopard heels, it made her legs look somewhat longer than they really were. Quite frankly, she was pretty indifferent about the leg thing. She did, however, love the shoes and didn't mind staring at them while attempting to tune out Caroline Atkins who was standing over the sink beside her.

"So, Amber told Tiffany who told Florrie who told Beth who told me that Phoebe Terese is cheating on that _sexy _Arnold Perlstein with Tim Peters. Who cheats on Arnold? I mean, seriously, he's got the pretty swim boy thing going on, don't you just want to…"

"Caroline."

"Yes?"

"Kindly shut the fuck up before I poke you in the eye with my mascara wand."

It was Monday, just under two weeks after the big soccer game. The Green Jays had won, although Carlos had been pretty subdued about the whole thing. Apparently he and Dorothy Ann had decided to upset the natural order of things by not speaking to each other. It was really starting to piss Wanda off, mostly because she liked the natural order of things.

But Fall Break was that weekend and Wanda had the perfect idea: five day weekend in Houston. She just needed to find a way to get all her friends to go. The little Wandas were telling her to just lock them up in the back of her Land Rover and drive.

Sometimes she had to ignore the little Wandas. Sometimes they made her want to do things, like stab Caroline in the eye with her mascara wand.

"Wanda! Help!"

A bang, whoosh, and a click signaled that someone, probably uninvited, was using the first floor bathroom across from the gym, read: the primary gossip location, to hide out. And, apparently, they were trying to take Wanda down with them. So not cool.

"Wanda." The voice was a little breathy, a little panty, and it took a minute for Wanda to peer through all the blonde hair to realize it was Dorothy Ann nearly bent over in two in front of her.

"Oh, it's her. I heard that she was cheating on Carlos with…"

"Caroline."

"Yes?"

"If you open your mouth one more time, I will stab you with my mascara wand until you die. I figure it could take a while." The girl gulped, much like Will had, and then slipped into one of the stalls and locked the door. "DA, pardon my French, but what the fuck is going on?"

"Carlos is following me, keeps saying he's trying to get _the inside story_. Ralphie will not leave me alone, no matter how many times I tell him to. I think he might have a crush on me. And, because of Ralphie's _stalker like_ behavior, Keesha's been trying to kill me with a spork. At least, I think she's trying to kill me. She isn't really talking just…"

"DA."

"Yes?"

"Please don't make me threaten you too." Wanda took a deep breath, waited for her friend to do the same, and decided it was safe to speak once the blonde exhaled and kept her mouth shut. DA always had been a quick learner. "So, let me get this straight. Carlos thinks you're cheating, probably with Ralphie considering the dumbass won't leave you alone. On top of this, Keesha, picking up on weirdo Carlos vibes, has decided that you were the reason that Ralphie ended their _perfect union_ and is now trying to spork you to death."

"That sounds about right."

"Carlos does realize that you two are not together, right? Mostly because his dumbassery kept him from making a move on you last year when you guys were in Dr. Tennelli's Passat."

Dorothy Ann opened her mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. "How did you know about the Passat incident?"

"I locked your stupid asses in it hoping that, if you didn't start dating, you'd at least jump each other and get rid of the sexual tension that's been plaguing you for years."

For a moment, Wanda wondered if Keesha really was right, if she really could make someone dumber by just talking to them. Thankfully, DA chose to pipe in about the time she was thinking that maybe she should become a nun and take a vow of silence.

But DA was talking now, so she wouldn't have to give up sex! Considering she hadn't had sex in the last three months, when Brett left to go to Baylor, she decided that she'd probably die if she went without sex for too much longer. She might become a serial killer if she had to go her entire life without sex.

Maybe that's why they locked nuns up in nunneries…so they wouldn't go out and kill a bunch of people.

"Wanda! Focus!"

"Oh, right, _nuns_. Anyway, I know exactly what to do!" The look in Dorothy Ann Brighton's pretty blue eyes did not convey the confidence that Wanda had been searching for. "You need to go talk to Keesh…"

"…I can't."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Are you and Ralphie hiding something?"

"Maybe."

"Is there any reason she should be going after you with a spork?"

"No."

All right, that was good, mostly because Wanda couldn't imagine DA as a home wrecker. Actually, for all the time she'd spent with Ms. Frizzle, the bus, and Liz, Wanda really couldn't do a whole lot of imagining. Well, she could imagine Carlos and Ralphie…

"Wanda! Focus!"

"Okay! Heh, mmm, _steamy locker room sex_. Anyway! Fine, you go talk to Carlos and tell him you guys are going to get everything figured out this weekend." Ha! That was how she was going to do it. She was going to fix everyone's problems including her own, say hello to Mr. Jack Daniels, using the tainted condo in Houston. It was perfect.

"This weekend?"

"Yes, we're leaving for Houston bright and early Wednesday morning. I know you can go because you don't have to work this weekend and there are no club meetings because of Fall Break." She could see that DA's brain was chugging away hard to come up with some excuse. "Also, the Corolla is out of the shop, so, you can drive Carlos up, which will give you guys plenty of time to talk…"

"…I don't want to talk to Carlos."

"You _will talk to Carlos_ or I will _kill you_ very, very slowly with my…eyelash curler. Now, go." Pushing DA towards the door with all the finesse of a sheep herder, Wanda was just about to unlock the door when the blonde grabbed the lapels of her shirt dress and looked up at her with desperate eyes.

"But what about Keesha? And Ralphie? If I go out, they might…"

"Chill, lady. I'll take care of _Weatherman_ and crazy spork lady. Go find Carlos and tell him he better be ready to go on Wednesday. Or I will kill him. Understand?" For being the smart one in the group, Dorothy Ann was acting just a wee bit crazy. Maybe that's what smart did, it made you crazy.

Frankly, Wanda Li would take stupid sanity any day of the week. Except maybe Saturday, she did like to get a little crazy on Saturdays.

---

"Uh, Wanda?"

"Yes Keesha?"

"Why did you just make Ralphie and I sit through an AASA meeting?"

The star quarterback and the StuCo VP had been extremely hard to find. Actually, Wanda had half expected to find them either in a broom closet somewhere going at it like crazed weasels or Ralphie curled up in a corner while Keesha went after DA with a spork.

Okay, so maybe her imagination worked just fine on things unrelated to gay jock sex.

She'd actually found Ralphie on his way out of his last period, Trig, joking with Mr. Hanson. Which was wrong. And Keesha had been arguing with the sports editor of the newspaper, telling him she would rip his testicles out and feed them to him if he wrote another article about Ralphie being a god among men. That was also wrong.

She briefly wondered if Carlos and DA not talking had actually sent them all spiraling into an alternate universe where nothing was what it seemed and everything was bass akwards. Wanda really, really hoped not.

But, instead of wondering too much about it, she drug both of them by the ear to the Ann Richard's Reading Room in the library and made them sit in the back while she conducted the Asian American Student Association meeting.

She loved being the president of a club that almost spelled "ass" in the acronym.

"I made your stupid asses sit through an AASA meeting because one, you both have limited knowledge of the Asian culture and need to expand your horizons and two, I was afraid _someone_," she looked pointedly at Keesha, "would try to kill Dorothy Ann if I didn't. Now, what the hell is going on with you morons?"

"Woah, Wanda used big words. Oh and, she started it!"

"Uh, no, you started it when you stuck your tongue down my throat at Phoebe's birthday party in June."

"Okay, well, you've just made it worse." Ralphie had pulled off his hat and was wadding it up in his hands, for some reason, Wanda found it sexy. She told the little Wandas to shut up immediately. "We were always fighting, Keesha, even before…"

"You started hiding everything from me. So, how long have you and DA been…"

"She's been tutoring me! Tutoring. As in helping me stay on the field and maybe get scouted. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to think I was stupid." Wanda's mouth dropped and, feeling guilty, she looked over and saw that Keesha's had followed suit. That made her feel so, so much better. "Sure, maybe I think she's hot, but, mostly I was following her around because I really needed help with my Chemistry assignment and she kept avoiding me. I had to ask Mikey to help me and it ended up costing me…"

"Tutoring. Dorothy Ann was tutoring you in Chemistry?"

"Yes, oh, and Trig, because she's actually pretty good at that math stuff too. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's good at lots of…"

"Then why the hell was Carlos so pissed off?"

"Because she kept having to bail on him because we had to keep rescheduling tutoring sessions. Her uber-participation in everything scholastic makes it a little difficult to do _anything._ Add my football schedule to that and…yeah." Ralphie sighed and put his hat back on his head. "He caught us sneaking off at lunch one day and I guess his crazed Latino mind just put two and two together and…"

"He decided she was _cheating _on him with you, _his best friend._ Which is ridiculous because…"

"Because they're _not even _dating…and the fact that I'd never go for Dorothy Ann. She'd make me feel stupid all the time." Keesha blushed and Wanda wanted to add a very non-Dr. Phil 'Like you did, weasel face,' but decided against it. Keesha was pretty strong and was quite a bit taller and her boobs could probably knock Wanda out cold with one blow.

"So we were pretty much dead before we started."

"Yeah, pretty much. But, you're really hot. I liked making out with you."

"I did too."

It was so like Oprah and so not like Oprah that it wasn't even funny. Unfortunately the little Wandas decided to break up the little love fest before Ralphie and Keesha decided to have a post-break up make out session on the AASA president's, that would be her, podium.

"So, Houston for Fall Break?" They looked at her like she hadn't been in the room moments before, looked at her like she hadn't helped them make a gigantic break through, and then nodded. "Good, oh, and Ralphie, if you decide that then would be a good time to come out with Carlos…be my guest. I just want to know so I can bring my video camera. You know…for posterior…"

"Posterity?"

"Oh, I guess that too."

"But Wanda..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm _not gay _for Carlos."

All right, they hadn't entered an alternative universe. But, then, how could she explain her sudden urge to jump Ralphie and defile the AASA president's, that would be her, podium right in front of Keesha? Hormones, yes, hormones and lack of sex. She'd be okay…she just needed to kill the little Wandas. Immediately if not sooner.

---

**Note:** Done! Jeebus, that took forever to write. Nearly two days of writer's block and then, BOOM, I get an idea and start running with it. I don't know what I like more 1.) the little Wandas 2.) "the Passat Incident" or 3.) Wanda having gay jock sex fantasies about Carlos and Ralphie. So, yeah, more gay jokes and lots of uncomfortableness to go around. Which will continue in Houston, promise. I can't decide if I want to do Tim or Arnold next, although, it probably will be Arnold. Oh and thanks to my two lovely ladies for my continued reviews, always makes me smile.


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